Blow Me
by rockstarpeach
Summary: Dean and Sam don’t like giving head. Which makes sense, because they aren’t gay. They both like GETTING head though, so sometimes you just gotta take one for the team. Sam decides to take advantage of their arrangement, because Dean’s kind of a jerk.


Title: Blow Me

Pairing: Dean/Sam

Rating: Adult

Word Count: 4,900

Summary: Dean and Sam don't like giving head. Which makes sense, because they aren't gay. They both like _getting_ head though, so sometimes you just gotta take one for the team. Sam decides to take advantage of their arrangement, because Dean's kind of a jerk.

Disclaimer: Not mine, I make no money.

***

They'd been working on a case. It was actually easier than most, just a fairly standard haunting, with nothing to do but track down and burn an old pair of mittens that happened to be neatly stacked away in the basement storage area. They should have been in and out in a matter of hours, but the girl whose apartment had been haunted was really hot, so naturally, Dean had been dragging his feet.

They'd been in this shithole of a town for two days now, and Sam strongly suspected that it was just because Dean was trying to get laid. Not that he ever really had to work very hard. Hell, Dean could get laid pretty much anytime he liked, but Sam also knew that he sometimes liked the flirting that built up to the sex almost as much as the sex itself, and sometimes, Dean preferred the girls that weren't quite so easy.

And this girl, Robin her name was, was _really_ hot.

On the third night, when they figured that the girl's life might actually be in immediate danger, Dean had finally stopped dicking around, and let them kill the damn thing.

"You sure have been helpful, uh… Christine," Dean said, that stupid, flirty leer in his voice, and flipped his phone shut. Christ. He was flirting with the landlady on the phone, right in front of another girl whose pants he was trying to get into. He was shameless.

He stood up and lifted his hand towards Sam, holding out the piece of paper that he'd written on. Locker number, and combination, that had belonged to the guy who had been living in the apartment before Robin. Why the stuff hadn't been cleared out when the guy died, Sam didn't know. "Don't know what it is, so just burn everything in there." The dead guy had been cremated, so it must have been one of his possessions that he was tied to, keeping him around the building, and haunting people.

"Me?" Sam asked, pulling a face and huffing out an irritated breath. "What the hell are you gonna do?"

Dean smiled and lifted his eyebrows, cocking his head toward Robin. "Stay here," he said. "Don't want to leave the pretty lady unprotected."

Sam sighed and snatched the paper out of Dean's hand, and rolled his eyes. He grabbed his shotgun off the table, felt his pocket for his lighter, and left, slamming the door behind him.

Twenty minutes later, after several unsuccessful attempts that involved a photo album, a box of Christmas decorations, and a seriously hardcore ass kicking, the ghost had finally vanished in a mess of screaming flames, when Sam had set lighter to an old pair of wool mittens.

When he gingerly climbed the stairs back up to Robin's apartment, it was to find Dean with his arms around the girl, smiling at her and whispering something in her ear. She giggled, barely looked over at Sam and mumbled a 'thanks' when he said the job was done, and then Dean had the fucking balls to ask Sam if he wouldn't mind taking off, and they'd meet up at the motel later.

Figured. Sam did the hard work, while Dean sat around on his pretty little ass, and he was the one that got the girl. Of course, Sam could get girls too. It wasn't exactly as if he'd been beaten with the ugly stick, but he just wasn't as much of a shameless slut as Dean was.

"Yeah, actually," he said, voice taking on that tone that always made Dean call him a bitch. He couldn't really help it; he was feeling… bitchy. "I think that ghost sprained my wrist, so I can't drive, Dean." It wasn't really true, but he rubbed his right wrist anyway for emphasis. It did hurt, but it was probably nothing more than bad bruise.

Dean looked at him, scrunched up his face like he was asking without words if it was Sam's time of the month. "Fine. I'll take you back. Baby," he muttered, and turned to Robin, kissed her and told her he'd call her later and kissed her again. For a little too long. Sam clenched his teeth to keep the growl from escaping his throat.

He turned and walked out, down the stairs and out the door and got into the car to wait for Dean. And if he slammed the door on Dean's precious baby just a bit too hard, well, Dean wasn't here to give him shit over it. He was probably upstairs getting a quick blowjob while Sam waited down here in agony. Even if his fake sprain wasn't actually hurting all that much.

It wasn't that Sam was jealous, because Sam didn't really get jealous. Okay, so that wasn't even close to true, but he honestly didn't get jealous over the random sex Dean had with random people. That kind of reaction would be a bit hard to explain, especially when him and Dean weren't even having sex, random or otherwise, with each other.

Not really.

They jerked each other off sometimes, and there had even been a few blow jobs exchanged, when they were feeling a particular need for some tension relief, but that was it. They weren't… couply, they didn't fuck or hold hands or snuggle in front of the television. They didn't spoon or fall asleep in the same bed, or gently caress each other's cheeks. Hell, they hadn't even kissed.

The first time it happened they'd been drunk, and somehow the motel television got turned over to porn, and they'd just sort of… ended up pulling each other to orgasm with one hand, and pouring beer into their mouths with the other, propped up side by side against the headboard of Dean's bed with their pants around their thighs.

They'd been touching themselves, shyly at first, but as the need got greater and the alcohol clouded their judgement they'd gotten more blatant about it, pulling themselves out, and really starting to get into it. At some point, Dean had looked over at Sam, snorted in amusement, and Sam had stopped his hand moving, frowned and asked, "What?"

"Dude, you're doing it wrong," Dean had told him.

"What?!" Sam baulked, and his mouth fell open. "I think I know how to jerk myself off, Dean."

"Yeah, you'd think so after all the practise you must have had," Dean smirked. "And yet, you're doing it wrong."

Sam floundered, mouth opening and closing as his hand kind of went limp on his thigh, because really? He just couldn't think of a single thing to say to that. In his defence though, he was really, _really_ drunk.

And now that he thought back on it, it was entirely possible that he _hadn't_ been doing it right, because when Dean heaved a put upon sigh, rolled his eyes, and said, "I'll show you," and reached over to grab his cock, it was about a million times better than his own hand.

It wasn't nearly as weird as they thought it would have been the next morning, when they finally sobered up, and realised what they'd done. Just kind of… sticky. So two weeks later they did it again.

And again, and again.

Dean did finally come down to the car almost ten minutes later, and Sam was silently seething by that point. That was more than long enough for Dean to fuck the girl considering what a quick draw he could be when he needed to. Again, not that Sam was jealous. And not that Sam cared who Dean did or didn't fuck most times, but he was in agony here, for Christ's sake!

He frowned, and poked his wrist just to make sure it was still tender. It was. Good.

He just hadn't gotten any in a while, hadn't been with another person in way too long, hadn't even had _Dean's_ hands on him in weeks. He was frustrated and antsy, sore, and tired of being bossed around and cast aside so Dean could get his jollies in some anonymous pussy while he beat off to cheap motel porn.

Besides, his beating off wrist was aching, so it wouldn't exactly kill Dean to help him out tonight.

They were both quiet on the drive, Sam barely glancing at Dean and pretending to be thoroughly engrossed in hitting random buttons on his cell phone, and Dean eyed Sam occasionally, but eventually turned up the music, and sang along. He was really kind of stupidly intoxicating when his horrible voice was cranking out over-the-hill tunes like that.

Sam forced himself not the let out the smile that was tugging at his mouth, and scowled harder, pushed a few buttons on his phone so hard that he nearly broke it, twice, and then shut it off five minutes later, when they got back to the motel.

Dean let them inside, and when the door shut behind Sam he shrugged out of his jacket, tossing it on a chair.

"Dude, what the fuck?" he said, turning around, and the sudden words caught Sam off guard after the previous silence, so he startled, dumbly. "I know your uterus must be going through a lot right now, but you totally fucking cock blocked me!"

"What? No I didn't!" Sam protested, snarling and shaking his head as he took his own coat off and placed it over Dean's. He totally had, but he didn't need to admit it out loud. "I got my ass kicked tonight while you cozied up to your lay of the week, and I… my wrist," he said, and it sounded kind of pathetic, even to his own ears, when Dean smirked.

"Right," Dean grinned, taking a few steps closer to Sam, invading his personal space unapologetically. "Your wrist is fine, Sammy."

"No," Sam corrected, frowning at Dean. He wasn't going to let him off the hook this quickly. "My wrist _would_ have been fine, if you'd been more interested in stopping that ghost than you were in getting your dick wet!"

Dean's grin broadened, and Sam shifted uncomfortably.

"What?" he asked, and his eyes moved down to Dean's mouth, watched him lick his lips, and then back up.

"You're jealous," Dean informed him, sounding much too sure of himself. God, Sam wanted to fucking hit him.

"No I'm not!"

"You know you don't have to be."

"Good," Sam snapped, short and tight, and turned around to… something, he didn't know, because he didn't really have a reason to turn around, so he sighed and turned back. "Because I'm not."

Dean just raised an eyebrow, and fuck, hadn't he done that enough tonight already? Because Sam was seriously getting sick of it. And it wasn't a turn on. At all.

Dean leaned in just that little bit more, closed the distance that put his chest flush against Sam's, and kept on smiling. Dean's hand shot out, grabbed Sam's shoulder tight, and slammed him back against the wall, hard, and even before Sam was able to recover the breath he'd lost in the action, Dean had his spun them around so their positions were reversed, and Dean was the one against the wall.

Sam took advantage of it, pressed in close to Dean, hands on Dean's biceps and the front of his body pressed to his brother, the hard outline of his cock snuggled up close against the hollow of his hip through their pants.

He hissed, bared his teeth, and Dean snickered. The fucker. "No, little brother," he said, and Sam almost didn't notice, through the fog of his own arousal, that he sounded a little breathless. "Obviously not jealous at all."

"You're an asshole, Dean," Sam groused, with the side of his face pressed to Dean's, and his hips bucked forward and to the side, his dick brushing along Dean's equally hard one.

Dean barked out a laugh and Sam felt his body relax immediately, watched him lean back against the wall and put a hand on Sam's shoulder. He grinned, lazily, and squeezed his fingers around the sharp bone, putting a significant downward pressure on Sam. "Blow me," he said, and Sam sank to his knees willingly, because yeah, that was an idea he could get behind.

Except that he couldn't quite just shut the hell up and suck his brother down, not even after his fingers had deftly worked Dean's jeans open, and taken him out, stroked his erection a few times to Dean's enthusiastic grunts. Because he was clearly retarded.

"What's the matter?" he taunted, leaning forward on his knees, warm, moist breath coming out over the head of Dean's prick. Sam knew Dean hadn't actually gotten anywhere with Robin, not after so short a time, but naturally, he needed to make an issue of it. Because Dean had still been a jerk. "Your pretty little fuck not quite enough for you tonight?"

"Dude," Dean gasped when Sam's tongue licked a slow swipe over his cockhead. "You're…" he sucked in a deep breath, let it out again. "Such a little _bitch_! I was only up there for two minutes! I didn't fucking fuck her."

"You were up there for at least ten minutes, Dean," Sam told him, and opened his mouth to suck in the first few inches of Dean, swirled his tongue around the tip before pulling back. "That's enough times to fuck her twice. For you, anyway."

"What the fuck do I look like, asshat?" Dean snapped. "I'm not gonna give the poor girl a quick fuck over her kitchen table while you're waiting downstairs with your _supposedly_ broken wrist!"

"Sprained," Sam corrected, and took Dean into his mouth completely.

Any protest Dean might have had about Sam's wrist not being either one, and they both knew it, died on his lips, as Sam's lips pressed tight around his shaft, and his cheeks hollowed as he sucked, hard. Dean cried out, hands clenching and then opening, flat palms smacking into the wall behind him.

"Fuck, Sam," he gasped, and one hand came forward, sliding around the back of Sam's head. His fingers moved through Sam's hair, too long, Dean would say, _had_ said, plenty of times, but Sam knew he was full of shit. Dean loved his hair, and even if he didn't, fuck him. It was _Sam's_ hair, not Dean's, and he didn't get any say in it.

Dean's fingers tightened and he pulled Sam closer, shoving himself deeper down Sam's throat. It wasn't the first time, but Sam still wasn't exactly practiced at this, so he gagged a little, coughed, but tried his damndest to give Dean what he needed.

He relaxed his throat, dropped his jaw, swallowed, repeatedly and powerfully, and jacked the lower half of Dean's dick with his hand, when it wasn't inside his mouth. There wasn't a lot of finesse, but he knew Dean didn't exactly need it. Dean did a pretty damn good job of taking care of things himself when he needed it bad enough, and he let Dean move, let him rock back and forth, short little jerks of his hips, pistoning his cock in and out of Sam's willing mouth.

It didn't last long. Not when Dean had been needing to get off pretty much all night, all that laying the groundwork with the girl for nothing. Sam smiled around Dean's dick when he thought about that. Not that he'd really wanted to stop his brother from getting laid, but he was selfish enough to think that it was better it happened with him, because then Sam could get off too.

It was all too soon for Dean, and just soon enough for Sam (because while he enjoyed being the source of Dean's pleasure, he _hated_ giving head), that Dean swore, dug his nails into the back of Sam's skull, and jerked his hips forward gracelessly, shooting his load deep into Sam's throat.

Sam swallowed him down, because he knew Dean liked that, and tried not to gag. It really was pretty fucking gross. But he took it like a champ, and the second he felt Dean stop pulsing in his mouth he pulled back, stood up and went to the kitchenette, grabbed a bottle of beer out of the fridge and twisted the cap off, took a large swig to wash the taste of Dean's jizz out of his mouth.

He took a deep breath after he'd finished half the bottle in one swallow, and placed it down on the counter before moving over to his bed, stripping his pants and underwear off, and lying down on it, knees slightly bent, long legs splayed out, and hands behind his head.

"My turn," he said, eyes narrowed at Dean. "And you better make it good, jerk."

Dean scowled at him, but kicked out of his boots and pants, fixed his boxers back up around his waist. He tucked his softening cock back inside them, and stalked across the room towards his brother. Sam knew Dean didn't really like giving head any more than he did, but he also knew that wouldn't stop him. The transition from hand jobs to blow jobs had been a little more awkward than the slide into touching each other in the naughty places to begin with, but they'd both done it, because they both liked having it done to them, and it seemed… fair.

"Shut your fuckin' mouth," Dean said, lips tight, as he got onto the bed and set himself up between Sam's slightly spread legs. He pushed them further apart, and up a little, exposing Sam more than he was strictly comfortable with, but Sam let him. If Dean was going to give him head, Sam wasn't going to do anything that might get in the way of that. Dean obviously needed some kind of upper hand, even if it was imagined.

And if that was exposing Sam in a blatantly sexually explicit manner, than neither of them really wanted, well, Sam could do that. It wasn't like Dean was going to go any further, wasn't like he was going to fuck him, because they didn't do that. Hadn't ever even thought about it, as far as Sam knew.

He wasn't even a little bit disappointed.

Nope.

Dean's fingers closed around his thighs, nails digging tight into the skin, breaking the first couple of layers. Sam kind of liked it, but to be honest, he'd have liked it better if Dean's nails broke right through, wanted to see the tiny, crescent shaped pools of blood on his skin.

Sam wasn't into guys. Absolutely not. But he couldn't deny that he kind of got off on Dean's strength, the fact that with Dean, he wasn't always the one in control.

Sam's head was already thrown back, so there wasn't much more room to manoeuvre when Dean opened his mouth wide, and sucked him all the way in, in one quick movement. Sam did cry out, though, thrashed his head from side to side at the first ecstasy-inducing touches. God. Dean wasn't exactly good at this, but he was a lot better than Sam's own right hand, and his need to get Sam off, no matter how much Dean wasn't enjoying it, was palpable, and a huge turn-on.

And Sam was feeling damn grateful that Dean wasn't as practised at this as he claimed to be in the rest of his sexual experience, because Sam kind of wanted this to last. Wanted to keep his brother between his legs for as long as he possibly could.

It was fucking awesome, despite Dean's lack of experience, and it was better than anyone else doing this for him, because this was _Dean_. His big brother, inarguable ladies man, face down in his crotch, and pulling his dick into his mouth like he was sucking on a fucking popsicle. It was heady, and Sam loved it, and he wanted it to last for fucking ever.

And yeah, Sam wasn't much gayer than Dean was, which wasn't very gay at all, but he had to admit that Dean looked _hot_ like that. Prettiest fucking mouth he'd ever seen in his entire life. Also, there was a perverse little thrill that Sam got from making Dean do something he knew he didn't like to do. Served him right being such a cocky little jerk sometimes.

Dean was working so damn hard at it, and Sam couldn't hide a smile, and he was happy that Dean's attention was elsewhere, because it would have totally ruined the mood. Sam closed his eyes and took a deep, calming breath, because if he kept looking at Dean like that, this was going to be over a lot quicker than he wanted.

Some of the tension went out of his muscles as he forced himself to relax, and Dean must have felt it, because he grunted in irritation around Sam's dick and picked up the pace, sucked harder. Sam just smiled and licked his lips, let his fingers play absently over the scratchy wool of the bedspread, and held back. He was in this for the long haul tonight.

Sam didn't have sex very often, and when he jerked off, or when he was with Dean, it was usually pretty quick, out of necessity more than anything else, but not tonight. He could last a damn long time when he wanted to, and the frustrated breaths coming from Dean's nose as he worked really made want to.

Dean's hand moved around his thigh to cup his balls, rolled them gently in his palm, adding yet more stimulation to try to push Sam over the edge as quickly as he could, but it had the opposite effect. It didn't turn Sam off, far from it, but it sort of made things even less urgent. The sucking and the licking and the rolling melded together into one big pleasurable sensation, one that he could be happy to ride out for hours if necessary, knowing that when it was over his orgasm would be well worth the wait.

He moaned, pushed his hips up lazily to imply that Dean should just go on doing exactly what he was doing, and he let himself fall into a kind of daze, just enjoyed the moment. The moment stretched, and stretched some more given that Sam wasn't feeling any urgency, and it was only the occasional sharp pinch of Dean's fingers on his sac, or the less than gentle scrape of teeth that grounded him.

Every time it happened, he felt just a little more smug, because it was obvious that Dean wanted him to hurry up and finish, but Sam had other plans.

When Dean finally got fed up enough to pull off his cock, the stale air of the motel room feeling cool on his wet skin, the clock on the table next to the bed told Sam that over half an hour had passed. Wow. He honestly hadn't expected Dean to go so long without complaining. He was half expecting him to give up after five minutes, and tell Sam to do it himself.

Dean's efforts, clumsy as they mostly were with Sam, usually met with much better results.

"For fuck's sake, Sammy," Dean grumbled, and Sam felt him lean his head against Sam's thigh. "My jaw is gettin' sore here!"

"Hmmm," Sam muttered, a lazy sound half way between an agreement and a question, like he wasn't even paying attention, and he shifted his hips slightly to make himself even more comfortable on the bed. He was feeling pretty damn blissed, and he just wanted his brother's mouth back on his cock. He honestly thought he could really do this all night.

He moved one of his hands to the back of Dean's head, and clumsily urged him forward again, but Dean's hand came up off Sam's balls to swat it away.

"Seriously?" he asked. "Fuck, dude, I'm not gonna do this all night. I know you're holding back. So hurry the fuck up, or I'll leave your ass like this." He flicked the head of Sam's erection with his middle finger for emphasis, and Sam winced.

"Come on, man," he said, but his voice was kind of soft and subdued, like he wasn't really completely there. And he kind of wasn't. He was feeling so fucking good, and he just wanted to keep feeling like this. Forever, if possible. "Don't be a cocktease."

"A cock…" Dean started, and trailed off, and Sam grinned, picturing the look on Dean's face. Within seconds his dick was back inside his brother's mouth, just like Sam knew it would be, because Dean wouldn't ever stand by and let anyone, especially his brother, call him a tease.

Sam also knew Dean was bluffing, that there was no way in hell he'd leave him like this, because Dean would never let his pride be wounded by failing to get someone off.

He worked even harder than before, pushing his tongue along the underside of Sam's cock, putting just the right amount of pressure on the vein, sucking for just long enough and just hard enough, and then stopping the suction in favour of swallowing around the head. His hand was back on Sam's balls, and then up his shaft, sliding into his mouth slightly at times, as he bobbed up and down, and _damn_, yeah, that kind of thing was likely to get Sam to orgasm quicker than he'd wanted.

He was starting to tense up again, the lazy pleasure being replaced by something more demanding, his body wanting release desperately, but he still fought it.

It was killing him, but he would have been happy to go on fighting it, for as long as he could, but then Dean's fingers moved down his shaft, over his balls, past them, and kept on going. Sam froze, sucked in a breath, and Dean didn't even pause, just shoved one slick finger straight up his ass, and wiggled it around.

Sam bent his knees more, put his feet flat on the bed and pushed up, trying to get away from the invasion. It was weird, foreign and strange but not entirely unpleasant, but his attempt to get Dean's finger _out of his ass_ didn't work. Dean's hand just followed him when he moved, but he did push himself further down Dean's throat, which made him moan happily, and when he fell back down to the bed, Dean slowly worked in another finger, and swallowed a few more times around his cock.

Sam honestly hadn't been expecting something like that, because they'd just never even hinted that either of them wanted it, but it wasn't nearly as bad as he thought it might be. It was actually kind of good, in a weird sort of way. And then when Dean relaxed his jaw, sucked him down as far as he could, and crooked his fingers in just the right way, it was _really_ good, in every sort of way.

A few more bobs of Dean's head on his cock, strokes of fingers inside his ass, and Sam was gone. Of course, it didn't help that the second his brother touched his hole, Sam's eyes had shot open, and they'd been glued to Dean's lips, and fucking hell, those lips wrapped around his cock was far and away the hottest thing Sam had ever seen.

"Fuck, fuck, _shit_, Dean!" he panted, rocked his hips forward and back, into Dean's mouth and back onto his fingers, and his whole body seized, muscles clenching so fucking tight, and then he was coming, pulse after pulse into Dean's mouth, and his brother swallowed it all down, seemed almost eager, and didn't spill a drop. And that made Sam come even harder, made him jack forward, want to drive so far inside his brother that he'd shoot straight into his belly.

It seemed like it lasted much longer than it actually did, but when his orgasm finally ended he collapsed back onto the bed, panting hard, and running his fingers through Dean's short hair playing with the lightly gelled spikes. Dean pulled back quickly, let Sam pet him for a few seconds, but then sat up straight, pushed at Sam's leg to make room, and flopped down on the bed next to him.

"Fuck," Sam said, breathless and reverent. "That was… fucking _amazing_!"

"Well don't sound so fucking surprised," Dean grumbled, and elbowed Sam in the side. "And don't count on any more blow jobs for at least a month."

"Hmmm," Sam answered, and his fingers danced lightly across the skin of his belly. He didn't believe Dean for a second. Dean liked getting blown too much to cut Sam off for that long.

He made a sort of unhappy growling noise, and gave Sam a shove for good measure, before he sat up and got off the bed. "Whatever. Bitch," he said, and headed into the bathroom to piss and brush his teeth.

Sam smiled, closed his eyes, and let himself start to drift off.

"Jerk," he mumbled, just before he heard the bathroom door close.

END


End file.
